


the good side of a bat

by ironwoodsfairy



Series: I'll See You On The Other Side [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:14:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23735956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironwoodsfairy/pseuds/ironwoodsfairy
Summary: With Clarke, Patrick eventually came around - she’d helped him bring in his groceries one day and that’s when he discovered she was an artist and proudly proclaimed that in another life, he had been one, too.Bellamy, on the other hand, found it almostimpossibleto get on the man’s good side for long. Every time he was asked for or offered to help, Patrick would eventually break out into near hysterics, yelling at Bellamy about manhood.OR - Bellamy and Clarke's adventures with an elderly neighbor.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: I'll See You On The Other Side [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1454605
Kudos: 32





	the good side of a bat

When they began renting an apartment next to an elderly man with a caretaker, Clarke really did not think it would be _this_ dangerous. 

He was a kind man, truly, and it was not his fault that he struggled in his age. His nurse was bubbly and bright, and had given them the heads up that he might have moments when he wasn’t all there, or when he lashed out even if he was incapable of dealing serious harm. Clarke and Bellamy both said they understood, and better yet, they were _understanding_. 

When they were moving their things into the apartment, their new neighbor had come out and introduced himself, and when he asked after their relationship in the way some elderly people do, he was immediately put off by their lack of governmental documents that proclaimed them as a married couple. With Clarke, Patrick eventually came around - she’d helped him bring in his groceries one day and that’s when he discovered she was an artist and proudly proclaimed that in another life, he had been one, too.

Bellamy, on the other hand, found it almost _impossible_ to get on the man’s good side for long. Every time he was asked for or offered to help, Patrick would eventually break out into near hysterics, yelling at Bellamy about manhood.

The most recent time it happened, Clarke had heard shouting and then the slamming of a door, and she immediately stepped into the apartment building hallway. Bellamy was staring at Patrick’s closed door, mouth gaping like a fish, and a flush creeping up his neck, with one hand clenched by his side and the other pressed against his forehead.

“What the hell happened?” she hissed.

He turned to look at her, an incredulous look on his face. “He threw a pill bottle at me.” He huffed and looked back at the door in front of him, shaking his head. His shoulders sagged, and Clarke thought she saw sadness as he came towards her. 

She followed him inside and returned to the dirty dishes in the sink, allowing him a moment to process what had happened while he grabbed a towel from the drawer and began drying the clean ones. 

Then -

“I just feel so sorry for him.”

Clarke’s hands stilled as she looked up at him, his own eyes shining and focused on the sink.

“I know he’s friendly with his nurse, but he’s alone. And I think that makes him angry.”

She nodded, and set the dish she was cleaning back into the water. “I’m sure that’s part of it.” A pause. “We could invite him to dinner, if you’d like. Help him feel more connected to people.” She leaned a hip against the sink and crossed her arms, gauging his reaction as a small smile played on her lips. “He did throw something at you though, so it’s your call.” 

He smirked and barked out a rough, self-deprecating laugh. “I’d be alright with that.” He laid the towel down and reached out to her, tugging her close and tucking her head under his chin. “He can throw things at me, just not at you.”

*

Dinner with Patrick had gone surprisingly well, and a week later, he’d asked Bellamy to help him fix some piping in his kitchen. 

That’s when Clarke heard the shouts again. But this time, Bellamy beat Clarke to their door, and walked in with a look of actual _fear_ on his face beneath the bewilderment.

“He tried to beat me! With a baseball bat!”

Clarke wasn’t sure if she should gasp or laugh at the thought of a little old man trying to hit Bellamy with a large blunt object, and so she settled on checking if he was okay.

He held his hands up, warding off her worried advances, and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself, to center himself. He moved to one of their old, mismatched dining room chairs, and it creaked under his weight. When he spoke, his voice was soft, almost whimpery as he dragged a large, freckled hand through his curls. “I know it’s just an episode, but dammit, I’m tired of these constant near-death experiences.”

Clarke’s giggle escaped despite her best efforts and he looked at her, eyes wide like a boy’s and lips pursed in a small pout. But still, in his face she found traces of humor. 

She strode over to him and pressed her lips to the top of his head, doing her best to soothe him after this most violent attack. Then, she tilted his head with a finger under his chin and kissed him, pushing herself into his lap.

“He can’t hurt you, not truly. I promise,” she whispered, lips brushing his with her words. “He’s doing his best, and so are you.” She scooched in closer, and the tanned skin of his neck flushed pink as his eyes darkened.

He only groaned somewhere deep in his chest, sounding for all the world like the teenage boy he never got to be, and Clarke felt her heart stutter as she moved to lay kisses along his stubbly cheek.

“Don’t be a whiny bitch, you bitch,” Clarke mumbled as she nipped the skin along his jaw, all breathy tease and lust-filled humor. She could nearly taste the joking retort on his tongue as she kissed him again, unleashing obscene noises into the room. But instead of indulging her, he rewarded her with a low moan and a squeeze on her ass. 

She pushed into him further, desperate to take him somewhere else, to transform him into a writhing, _filthy_ mess. “I’m sure in another world, your near-death experiences are much-” she ground down on him - “much-” again - “ _much_ -” his nails dug into her hips as his own rose to meet her instinctually- “worse.”

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: “A: I’m tired of these constant near-death experiences. B: (optional) don’t be a whiny bitch, bitch.” au - https://persuasivus.tumblr.com/post/162906876567/some-hilarious-writing-prompts


End file.
